The Wheeling daily intelligencer. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1865-1903, 1887-04-30
Mark saw that the mail buggy was ut
the gate and tho dcaf.looking old man OF

n driver had d letter for him.
"Whcrc's II from ?? demanded Mark.
"Dunno. You know l can't read."
The mail carrier i4 that country, who
also carried packages to tho train to exc
out u living, delivered letters to some
roadside customers. As he passed along.
Mark opened tho letter.
II was u mocking narrative of his be.
Ing Tilted, 1t reminded him of some i'm.
PROJECTIONS In Ills youthful history. II
even jecrcd ut his ganccocks md cmpha.
sized tho stubborn fact TINT he had not
Won n main all last winter.
There was no signature to the letter.
II did not seem, 10 Marks incxpcrt art
with tho pen, to be in tho handwriting Of
the other anonymous letters, which he
now took up from tho carcss Of Negro.
foot.
"It's somebody with q game flavor for
olo family history, anyway"
As he spoke the bloodhound ran his
muzzlc. barrel into the frcshly.opcncd
letter and shifted md whincd.
Mark Hanson smelt tho paper. lIencxt
took up tho anonymous letters left with
him and applied them TO his nose.
Slowly whistling he took his dog 10 n
crib and daintily, parsimoniously fed
him on n rare morscl OF food and locked
him in with the anonymous letters for
his education.
All the next day Mark Hanson sat
thinking over the people far and near
who knew so much about other peoples
business. Tic made q list of all the Cos.
sips and meddlers, men and women.
Tho third day he took his hungry
hound out Of tho crib, showed him favor.
Ito food but withheld 1t, made him scent
tho anonymous letters again and again,
and trail them from place to place, and
pcttcd the animal while teaching him
chirography.
The fourth day Mark took his riding
whip, mounted his horse, whistlcd TO
Ncgrofoot and started on n journey of
inspection.
His free habits made him easily wei
come at every suspected homestead, and
upon each he had often bestowed small
fame in Maryland hospitality.
At every place he called for paper and
writing materials to write q letter.
Near nightfall Dave Hightman saw his
friend come into the store with u weary
face. .
"Davc, I've failed. Nc and Negcrfoot,
too. l s'pose VIC amt Ind the proper
schooling. Git your horse and ride ovcr
the mountain"
They passed the gap under the bright
stars that seemed so near, while the winds
roared in the forests upon the knobs
above.
Carrie Devoc read the failure of the
inquest as they entered, and she rejected
her lovers kiss.
"Ncvcr can We marry" she repeated,
"until this miscrcant is foundW
Carrie" spoke Mark Hanson, cts that
which touches my honor; for you may
thinR I'm trying to divide you from Dave
by not finding this culprit. I've followed
every clue. I've gone to the old woman's
who sits at the window-blinds and peeps,
and to the young preachers who is SO af-
fcctionate at funerals; to the book-can-
yasscr's and amongst the postmastcr's
daughters; wherever there was too much
~slyncss, or too much knowledge and op-
portuuity, or a hidden rascality that could
tempt one child of mater to accuse his
fcllow-bcing of the same"
Hc stopped and looked suddenly across
the room where Grandfather Dcvoc was
writing his memoirs, indifferent to the
conversation around him.
"Carrie! Davew exclaimed Mark Han.
| son, "did you ever see a bloodhound that
could read handwriting before? Look a.
thercg"
The muzzle of Ncgrofoot, the blood.
hound, was or Grandfather DEVICES man.
uscript.
With a g%unncr's sliding movement
Mark Hanson stole across the room and
lifted Grandfather Dcvoc's page of manu-
script.
"!Ycr, Ncgcrfoot," lie whistlcd, "I'vcg got
your supper in my pocket. Yer, Carrie!
how many lashes do you say for the
anonymous letter-writcr ?"
The old man started up, feeble and
pale.
His granddaughter ran forward and
seized the whip.
"Hc tho writer Of these anonymous
letters? 1mpossibleT
"Ill trustthedog'sscen cycrytimel I'll
trust my nose, tool Smell of that paper
Colonel Devoe writes on, and of the pa
pcrs these yer letters is wrote upon. It's
the same, and there amt no such paper
used by another, that can write, in all
this district Of country. Thar's Italian
rags and sour alumni and spilled chloride
Of lime in that letter paper. And l
accuse this man of sending them letters"
Down fell the whip lightly upon the
old mans back.
Instead Of rcscnting it the old man
covered to the floor and took Marks
haunting words:
"Nho knows rs much ancient history
us him, about everybody Who is all
the time writing something that never
gets to be finished? Who gives letters to
the mail driver, that cant read the in
scription on .'em o tell them from other
peoples lettersY Who else knows that
my chickens hain't won q main this whole
season but him, and he heard me tell you,
| Carrie Dcvoc, and you alone P"
Colonel Devoe," David IIightman,
gravely said, II fear tho bloodhound
scents your stationery as well US no can
scent tho skin upon one human foot from
another. We Ind suspected you already,
and that was why I could not assist my.
ullsuitSSA IA W uIotiUSc (llC CulIllL &tLltl
Flemish hcr family name. Tell us, N this
little private group, the motive Of your
doing so, and be forgiven p
The old colonel arose and staggered to
q chair and looked around at them with
humility and fear.
ut was IN old, old habit" he said, FAC
quircd in the contentious ofpublic writers
and partisans. God knows l have
tried to break myself of it, but always
failed. It began in the tyrannical desire
of an editorial desk not to allow IN op.
ponent to vanQuish me. It extended 10.
my career as n public %oflccholder when
I breathed forth tho secrets 1 suspected
through tho secret mail and fought duels
to defend my character and still. wrote
anonymous letters. Finally banishcd by
my suspicious and tho suspicious against
me from tho crowded hnunts Of men,I
discovered that 1 could lctnothiug alone,
not even my own family. Behold me,
who hate nobody and am helpless to de!
fend myself, still whispering my scnilc
and spiteful apprehensions to tho or
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